


Of Nightmares and Confessions

by Jaydeemz



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: A little bit NSFW, First Coliver Fanfic, M/M, Panic Attacks, Reaction fic to Connor's story, Spoilers for episode 1.09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2678060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydeemz/pseuds/Jaydeemz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It snowed during the evening of Connor’s first group meeting. </p>
<p>Contrary to Oliver’s expectations, the law student hadn’t complained once about the arrangement. They had made an uneasy deal after the fateful night they discussed Connor’s alleged drug addiction. Connor’s hands had twisted incessantly on his lap, he had tapped his foot through the entire conversation, and he hadn’t been able to meet Oliver’s eye once. It took a few hours, but Oliver managed to slowly extricate a full story. </p>
<p>Connor had screwed up…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Nightmares and Confessions

It snowed during the evening of Connor’s first group meeting. 

Contrary to Oliver’s expectations, the law student hadn’t complained once about the arrangement. They had made an uneasy deal after the fateful night they discussed Connor’s alleged drug addiction. Connor’s hands had twisted incessantly on his lap, he had tapped his foot through the entire conversation, and he hadn’t been able to meet Oliver’s eye once. It took a few hours, but Oliver managed to slowly extricate a full story. 

Connor had screwed up…

… By sleeping with Paxton and ruining his relationship with Oliver. 

He had taken some pills when alcohol didn’t make the regret go away any longer. 

One try turned to a second, to a third, until he couldn’t stop anymore. 

“But,” Connor had said, meeting Oliver’s eyes for the first time since he had begun the conversation, “I’m ready to stop, Oliver. When you’re there, I don’t crave them as much.” 

So they had made an awkwardly proposed deal after Connor had asked, in a small voice, if he could spend the night at Oliver’s, since he hadn’t trusted his self control. It was worse when he was completely alone, he had offered pitifully. Oliver had agreed, under the condition that he would solely decide when Connor spent the night, and it would only be if Connor abstained from any type of drugs, which was readily agreed to by the law student. 

Connor slept like a rock on the comfortable couch in Oliver’s living room. Oliver stared at his ceiling for four hours until he gave up on sleeping and read for the rest of the night.

Two weeks later, after exchanging numerous texts, they agreed to meet again. Oliver had signed them up to attend a general addictions recovery group, and Connor had almost smirked. 

General addictions support group, Walsh. To fix your drug addiction and sex addiction all in one. 

Maybe, just maybe, Oliver hadn’t given up on him quite yet. 

In fact, Connor was even beginning to truly believe so. Oliver had remained quiet during the group, in which everyone discussed their yearning for drugs or games or alcohol, and Connor had unfortunately fit right in. When they had left, the older man had even kissed his cheek lightly to congratulate him for going, and Connor had grinned what may very well have been the first real smile to grace his lips since the night of the bonfire. 

They began a silent walk toward Oliver’s apartment, their feet marking the fresh snow with soft crunches as they slotted their fingers together without making a fuss about how incredibly tacky it all was. The snowflakes would catch in the orange glow of street lamps and the wind sifted through the branches of nearby trees, proposing a romantic atmosphere that they didn’t even ask for. 

Connor could almost call himself happy as he saw Oliver beam at the scenery. Connor felt that it was just a normal sight. Every beautiful scene paled when compared to Oliver’s smile; the law student couldn’t focus on the snow, or even where they were even going, for that matter. It was unfortunate, too, because maybe then he could have prepared himself for what was to come. 

When they approached the skating rink, the announcer was calling to skaters that they would close in half an hour. Oliver had fully intended to watch, since the area was lit with Christmas lights and the air smelled of pastries and warm drinks, but Connor was now entranced by the skate rental office. He turned to Oliver, his face twisting into a childish excitement that made his eyes light up and his lips quirk in happiness, and he opened his mouth to offer an invitation. 

Before he could say a word, however, the announcement ended and music resumed; an upbeat version of “Jingle Bells” began to play.

A cold car running in a shady corner store’s parking lot. 

A radio turned to a random station to cut the tension between four people — one of whom couldn’t care less. 

A shovel striking through frozen earth. 

Fire.

Smoke.

Sam Keating.

“Connor, breathe for me please.” 

Dark eyes blinked open in confusion, and Connor realized that he was hyperventilating, and his legs and lungs burned. The world returned slowly in focus, starting first with Oliver’s concerned eyes, and eventually the street around them. He abruptly pulled away, whirling in a circle, and as Oliver grabbed onto his arms to steady him, he realized that he was at least a mile away from the skating rink. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, running a hand through his hair. He felt the panic rise within him as he imagined how he must’ve looked, dashing away from there like a maniac, and before he could calm himself down, he was hyperventilating again and his vision blurred and he couldn’t feel Oliver’s hands on him anymore and time escaped him and he had screwed up, and couldn’t Oliver just understand how badly he had screwed up — 

Oliver’s lips carefully brushed against his, and the world slammed back in focus. The cold drops of snowflakes melting in his hair and on his skin, the warm tongue now brushing lazily across his, and the strong grip of Oliver’s fingers on his shoulders grounded him in a reality that he appreciated more than he could ever admit or even try to explain. They kissed until Connor had calmed, until the tensed muscles of his back had relaxed, and until the kiss was becoming a tiny bit too heated for public eyes. 

Connor really couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck, but Oliver pulled away. His lips were red, cheeks flushed, and yet he still managed to look concerned, and the law student wished he would’ve kept his damn eyes closed. 

Their walk home resumed in silence. 

***

Oliver really, honestly tried to keep it platonic between them… at least until Connor sorted himself out. Hand holding had been nothing but warm support, he lied to himself. The kiss had purely been to distract the sex addict from whatever had triggered his panic attack. 

But when they both stood shivering in Oliver’s entryway, the melted snow causing cold droplets to run down their necks uncomfortably, Oliver threw caution to the wind and offered Connor to shower together. After all, he couldn’t possibly leave Connor to stand there, clothes and hair wet and body shivering, while he basked in the warm water alone… and, to be honest, he didn’t feel like waiting for Connor to be done with a shower before he had his turn. It was a sensible decision.

Oliver was the first one to slip under the steady stream of water. Connor had worn more layers, and Oliver hadn’t quite trusted himself to look at a naked Connor Walsh after weeks without touching him, so he chucked off his glasses and waited with his eyes closed. 

Soon, Connor’s fingers were running down his wet back, and then they slipped around him to tease his stomach. Oliver could feel him, hot and hard behind him, as he hesitantly pressed a kiss against Oliver’s throat. The older man arched his neck and groaned softly, so Connor’s hands sunk lower and Oliver gasped in utter pleasure. Waves of stifled passion crashed over both of them as Oliver turned and their lips fiercely met, one body now pressing the other’s flat against the shower wall as hands roamed and desperation drove their movements until the windows had steamed from their eagerness. 

They staggered out of the shower once the water ran a steady cold stream of misery, and both men immediately moved to regain some of that precious warmth under the thick blankets of Oliver’s bed.

***

“I am so screwed.”

The moan was so low that Oliver would’ve most likely missed it had he been asleep. He turned to stare at the clock — Connor had been sleeping for a little over an hour, he assumed — and sighed deeply. Oliver slept well most nights; it was as though Connor’s presence attracted insomnia to him, no matter how comfortable he was. He was especially happy now, with the front of his entire body curling comfortably around Connor’s back and his arms holding the other boy close. Maybe he wouldn’t sleep because he wanted to enjoy holding the other man as much as he could.

Oliver smiled, his lips brushing against Connor’s hair as he remembered when the other man would refuse to cuddle, or even to stay the night. The few reluctant times he had stayed to sleep, he had been very clear that they were not to cuddle. 

Cuddling was for couples, after all — it went right along with crossword puzzles at breakfast, Facebook statuses, and the kind of meeting that Connor didn’t even want to think about because it made things a tiny bit too official for his taste. 

So Oliver had been pleasantly surprised when Connor had curled away from him after their fourth —fifth?— time, but had reached for Oliver’s arm and had draped it around his waist. He had scooted backward until Oliver was holding him tightly, and had given such a contented sigh that Oliver had actually laughed out loud and had kissed his hair. Oliver grinned at the thought once more, until Connor squirmed uncomfortably in his embrace. 

“N-no.” 

Oliver slid his arm from Connor’s waist, but that only aggravated the problem. Connor began to shake in his sleep, and Oliver was about to wake him from the nightmare when Connor whispered, “Murder. We need to— get away — murder…” Oliver’s hand froze in midair as he gazed at his sleeping partner, feeling the sharp thrill of terror seep into him. Had Connor really said…? 

Connor’s voice was mournful, shaking, and weak. “We’re sorry, Annalise.” 

The newspaper’s headlines flashed in front of Oliver’s eyes. Mr. Keating, well-known psychology professor, vanished after a confrontation with his wife over the murder of a young university student. His eyes fluttered closed as Connor continued to whisper incriminating evidence, one fateful word after another, until he gave a louder gasp and jerked awake, struggling to breathe. He shot up in a sitting position, forcing Oliver to scoot away to give him some room, as Connor began to rock rapidly. A quick fumbling later, the light was turned on, and Oliver laid on his side to look at the man he loved. 

Connor didn’t look like a murderer. He was shaking from head to toe, eyes moist with unbidden tears, and the sheer expression of panic and regret had Oliver’s heart sinking. Before he could stop himself, he had sat up and had gathered Connor in his arms, holding him tightly and brushing his fingers through his hair. 

Their eyes met for one second, and it was enough for Connor to understand that Oliver knew. 

“Out of every story… A drug problem?” Oliver asked in a whisper, pulling Connor’s face in the crook of his neck. The stiff hike of the law student’s shoulders sank a bit when he realized that Oliver wasn’t kicking him out. He wasn’t running to call the police. 

“I-it was one of the first things you said,” Connor choked out, shuddering violently. Oliver calmed him by kissing his hair. “You asked me if I was on something. You doubted whether or not I was on drugs. It was easier to build on your doubt than make something else up.” 

Oliver nodded silently. He leaned back on the pillows, bringing Connor along with him, and sighed as the other boy clutched to him frantically. They remained quiet, aside from the occasional panicked shudder that escaped Connor’s struggle to stay quiet, and Oliver’s soft reassurance that everything would be okay. The wind striking the apartment building eventually drowned out Connor’s panic, and they both fell in an uneasy sleep. 

A week later, Oliver dutifully accompanied Connor to his group counselling session — they had an alibi to solidify. 

They never spoke of the confession again.


End file.
